


Heart, we will forget him!

by chezvous



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, plot is optional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chezvous/pseuds/chezvous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Did you know</i>, murmurs Charles pensively, lying on his stomach with his head pillowed on his arms, <i>Making love is the most painful thing in the world.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart, we will forget him!

**Author's Note:**

> _HEART, we will forget him!  
>  You and I, to-night!  
> You may forget the warmth he gave,  
> I will forget the light. _
> 
> _When you have done, pray tell me,  
>  That I my thoughts may dim;  
> Haste! lest while you’re lagging,  
> I may remember him!_  
> \- Emily Dickinson

_Did you know_ , murmurs Charles pensively, lying on his stomach with his head pillowed on his arms, _Making love is the most painful thing in the world._

Despite his better judgment, Erik answers him. _Why do you say so?_

 _Because it happens so very rarely. Because sometimes you don't recognize it until the moment is gone and then you're left reaching for something you can never reclaim again. Because everything else suddenly seems insignificant in comparison. Because you will continue to seek it out when you already know it will hurt. Because it can change the very core of you. Because it _does _, and to allow yourself to surrender completely to that kind of power, the kind you cannot control, is frightening. It will eat away at your heart, you know, until you're utterly consumed and all the better for it._

This is all said in quiet, measured breaths, lips barely moving so that it might as well have been telepathic.

 _You speak from personal experience, then._

Charles smiles ruefully. _Sometimes I wonder._

Erik looks away then, but he can feel Charles' gaze still following him like a shadow. There is a conversation they are having here, and one that they are not. Both unsettle him, so he closes his eyes and says nothing in response, keeping his mind carefully blank in case Charles wanders, but Charles seems equally cautious about not prying; perhaps answers are not what he seeks from Erik tonight.

But if not answers, then what?

After a few moments of silence, he feels the mattress shift and the bedsprings creak as Charles slips out of the bed, hissing as his toes touch the cold wood flooring. Erik does not bother to feign sleep as he watches Charles, silhouetted by moonlight, looking almost like an ethereal, alien creature as he casts about gracefully for his discarded clothes, gathering them into a crumpled ball against his stomach.

The light cuts a sharp, curving crescent where jaw meets neck and Erik can almost make out the map of purple stains he left on Charles' pale throat not half an hour ago, like a cartographer claiming a new world for himself. Briefly, he wonders whether he has crossed a line, trespassed into territory that had not been his to conquer.

Charles does not dress before crossing to the door, his clothes now tucked neatly in a bundle under his arm. Whatever his other English sensibilities, the shame of being caught in the act of leaving Erik's bedroom with his sins written all over his naked body does not appear to be one of them. His breath hitches for a moment and Erik can almost feel the warmth from Charles' hand seeping into the cast iron door handle as he pauses, whether out of hesitation or something else.

G _ood night, Erik. Sleep well._ A whisper from both mind and mouth that fills the entire room.

He does not wait for a response before slipping out.

 _Then it's fortunate_ , Erik thinks bitterly once the heavy oak door clicks shut again, that he can never be the one to cause Charles such exquisite pain.

**Author's Note:**

> Protip: when it's three in the morning and you can't sleep, write about stupid boys who are unable to deal with their stupid feelings.


End file.
